


Respite

by heartofstanding



Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-31 14:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: A year on from the Appellant Crisis, things are still rough - but Anne has an idea of how to help Richard forget for a time.





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angevin2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angevin2/gifts).



> I've got no idea if pegging was done in medieval times (people have always been inventive when it comes to sex, though, so probably), but I think we can all agree that if it was, Anne and Richard would've done it. A lot.

Richard is late tonight.

Anne lies on her side, the covers pulled up to her neck, and watches the candle burn, the wax melting and dripping, the wick dark amidst the flickering flame. Her damsels have asked if she wanted the hangings drawn and the lights extinguished so she may sleep. But Richard would worry if he returned to find the room in darkness, and she knows she will not sleep until he arrives and is safe.

One of her newer ladies, a pale slip of a girl, suggested that the king was likely sleeping in his own chambers, and Anne bit her tongue so as to not chastise her. Yes, she and Richard have separate chambers, but they never have need for more than one room now. It has been a year since the Lords Appellant rose and since Robert de Vere fled and they have slept together, in the same bed, every night of that year. So Richard will come and so Anne will wait for him.

*

He arrives at last, slipping in quietly. Anne sits up in the bed, pulling her knees to her chest, smiling only when he comes over to kiss her, a simple press of lips on lips. She takes his hand, feels his icy fingers folding over her own.

‘Oh Anne, don’t say you were worried,’ he says.

‘I wasn’t,’ she says though it is not wholly true. ‘Come to bed. Don’t make me wait any longer.’

He smiles and bends his head to kiss her again, his hand tightening around hers. ‘You _were_ worried.’

‘Only that my bed would be cold.’

She tugs at his hand, pulling him close enough to steal another kiss. He laughs against her mouth and her heart thrills to hear it. It has been too long since he has laughed without any bitterness. He pulls away only to call to his servants and be prepared for bed, then slips in beside again and pulls her close.

‘I would say that we wouldn’t want you or your bed to be cold, but it seems quite warm to me,’ he says.

‘It wasn’t until you joined me,’ she says and doesn’t care that she sounds completely besotted. She lays her head on his chest, listening to his heart. It is steady, calm – good. His hand cups her cheek, then moves to unravel her braid and spread her hair out over her shoulders.

‘And it would feel cold to me without you,’ he says. ‘You must never leave my side or else we both will go cold.’

‘I shall not,’ Anne says. She wriggles closer to him, nuzzling against his neck and feels his arms go around her, hold her tight. She kisses his neck right where his pulse thrums.

‘Shall we—?’ she asks.

At the same, he says, ‘You wish to—?’

She laughs and kisses his neck again. Her body is slack and will not stir for any furious coupling, but she has never felt the desire to refuse him – not least because he is always a considerate lover, unselfish and well attuned to her moods. She wants this, but in a slow way. Passion can come when they are both well-rested.

‘I know,’ he says.

His arms tighten and he rolls them over onto their sides, his chest against her back, the heat of his cock just brushing her buttocks. She smiles, feeling him gather her hair in one hand and pull it to the side to press kisses against the back of her bared neck, and wriggles back against him. He leans in to kiss her lips, his hand slipping beneath her shift to touch bare skin. She giggles, squirming away from it.

‘Your hands are _cold,_ ’ she complains. ‘What were you doing before you came to bed?’ Standing outside for hours?’

She regrets asking as he stiffens, just a little, and says, ‘Praying.’

‘Well,’ she says. ‘They’ll soon warm.’

And they do, one hand moving between her thighs, pulling from her soft little cries and gasps, and the other clutched in her hand. She reaches behind her, her fingers sliding over the sharp edge of his hip before they find and grasp his cock, tugging him closer. She raises her leg just enough for him to push inside her. Air rushes out of her in long exhale and she lets her head fall back against his shoulder. Yes, _yes,_ this is right, this is what she wants, always, to be so close with him that they are one flesh.

Richard’s mouth presses against her jaw, not quite in a kiss. His hips are pushed forward all the way and he makes no move to withdraw and begin to thrust. Their bodies are full of fine trembling, his hand rests over the crux of her thighs, his thumb pressing just above the slick joining of their flesh, where her body sings.

It is only when she feels the stirring of impatience that he moves, a slow pull back and then push forward that knocks the breath out of her again. She tightens her grip on his hand, trying to hold onto him, to clasp him tight. His hand begins to move against her again, making her arch back against him and bite her lips to try and hold back her cries before she gives up and allows herself to voice them, letting herself sink into the pleasure and become lost in it.

When Richard comes, his arms wrap around her tight and he doesn’t move, doesn’t make an effort to withdraw, and he lets out a soft whine he begins to slip out regardless. She clenches down tight, but cannot hold him. He presses his face against her shoulders. She can feel the heat of it through the thin fabric of her shift, the trembling of his body that she knows foretells tears.

‘I don’t know what I’d do,’ he says, ‘if anything happened to you.’

‘Nothing will,’ she says, and she would turn to him and hold him, let him bury his face in her breasts, but he clutches her so tightly she can’t. She crushes his hand in hers.

‘You don’t know that,’ he says. ‘I would – if I lost you as well, I would – by God, I do not know.’

‘You will not lose me,’ she says, raising his hand to her lips. But he does not seem to hear her, his tears soaking the back of her shift.

*

Anne worries about Richard. She has always worried about him because she has always loved him, but now it seems to be part of her very being, done in the way she breathes or her heart beats. He is splintered, his joys dim and his sorrows greater. There is little she can do but hold him, comfort him and try to intercede where she can – though that has netted nothing but failure and she still feels the burn of quiet anger at the Earl of Arundel’s response to her pleas for Simon Burley. She is careful never to mention it to Richard, to add to the insults and griefs he has borne.

Yet there must be something more she can do. Something, however small, that can lift him up and make him whole. She wishes Robert was with them, he would have _some_ idea of what to do to cheer Richard, even if it was just throwing him onto the bed and having his way with him—

 _Oh._ Anne straightens, pressing a hand over her mouth. _Oh._ There is an idea.

*

He comes to bed early the next night while she is still undressing and, with a few quick words, he dismisses their attendants and moves to help her, struggling with the ties and buttons of her gown before sliding it off and tossing it over a chair. She turns to face him and leans in to kiss him before helping him undress, throwing his clothes over hers until he stands in his shirt and her in her shift.

‘I have something to show you,’ she says.

‘Really?’ he says, and she laughs.

‘Yes, really!’

She bends to pull the wooden box out from under the bed, just a small thing, no longer than her forearm, and sets it on the bed between them. The clasp on it is fiddly and it takes her awhile to remember the trick to it. She opens the box as Richard leans in to look, so she lifts the item inside it up to show him.

The phallus is a cool weight in her hand, the leather straps attached to the base tickle her wrist. It was a gift from Robert years ago, handed over surreptitiously while Richard slept between them.

‘If you ever want to know what it’s like,’ he told her. She hadn’t understood what he meant until she saw him fuck Richard and seen the way Richard’s face had changed, the way his hands had tried to grasp at something – Robert, himself, the sheets.

She doesn’t know why she has never used it before. The image of Richard, mindless and owned in his pleasure, was beautiful, and she has always liked the idea that she could do that to him. Once, maybe, when they were freshly wed, she would’ve been too shy or too afraid to suggest it of him – even assuming that she knew it was possible, which she hadn’t. But not now, never now.

She showed the phallus to Richard the morning after Robert had given it to her, and his eyes had widened, lighting up as he leant over to kiss her thoroughly. Anne supposes they must have just – not forgotten, but something like it.

Now, with Robert gone and Richard so _fractured,_ it seems like a good time to bring it out. To see if she, so powerless in the face of the threats against them, could help ease his burdens a little, even with something so removed as sex.

He looks from the phallus to her face, then back again, his throat working. Was it a mistake to show him, she wonders, to ask him at the wrong time, in the wrong way? But his cheeks pinken, his hand reaches out to hover over the phallus before coming down to clasp it with her.

‘I thought you’d forgotten or lost it,’ he says, a quiet murmur.

‘No,’ Anne says. ‘I’ve wanted to do it since I saw you and him together. But it never seemed to be – I don’t know why I never thought to do it.’

Richard’s mouth twitches. She reaches out and cups his cheek, pushes her fingers through his golden hair. He is so beautiful and he is hers, completely. He nuzzles into her hand, kissing her palm.

‘It’s been a while,’ he says, which is a way of delicately putting how long it’s been since he laid with Robert. ‘You’ll have to go slowly at first.’

‘I know,’ she says. She has watched them together many times, seen the care they have taken with each other and the brief grimaces when they were too fast or ungentle.

‘And use oil.’

‘I know,’ she says. ‘And you trust me?’

His lips curve into a beatific smile. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Take off your shirt and get on your hands and knees.’

‘My shirt?’

‘Yes, you heathen,’ she says, ‘I want you naked.’

Richard’s eyes dance. ‘In that case, I want you naked too.’

‘I thought I was in charge here,’ she says, barely able to hold in her laughter, and when Richard turns away to properly undress, she cannot resist giving him a smack to his bottom, just a light one with the flat of her hand that makes him startle and jump, turning around to stare at her with bright eyes.

‘You should tie my wrists,’ he says.

‘Maybe I will,’ she says.

She watches as he undresses and then glances back at her, disappointment creasing his brow when he sees she has yet to strip down to her skin. She has to bite back a smile and keep her face relatively impassive as she nods towards the bed. He doesn’t look the faintest bit abashed as he climbs onto the bed and waits for her on hands and knees.

He is beautiful. His skin is pale, glowing in the light of the candles and fire. He is tall and slender, but strong, like the leopards in the Tower. His cock is already stiff, she wants to touch it but it is better to wait. She reaches out to run her hand along his flank, feeling the muscle and bone beneath smooth skin, then leans over to press a kiss against the small of his back.

‘Anne,’ he says, a soft murmur.

‘Patience,’ she chides.

She urges him to rest his chest and head against the mattress, then moves to open the coffer on the table by the bed, picking out the small flask of oil and a length of silk. She slides her hand down his left arm and then draws it carefully up and over to his back. Without prompting, he moves his other arm and presses his wrists together. She winds the silk strip around them carefully, tying the knot so it won’t unravel easily if he pulls against it as she knows he will.

‘You’re so good for me,’ she says, laying a trail of kisses up his spine, feeling each vertebra against her lips. Then she brushes his hair back – she sometimes thinks she loves his hair best out of all his features, the shining, smooth gold of his curls. He would, of course, look fetching in a blindfold or a gag, but she suspects he would not take well to losing his voice or being unable to see. Not without Robert here with them, so that one can play Richard’s body like an instrument and the other to hold him, to reassure him.

Anne pushes those thoughts aside. Tonight is not about old griefs, it is about forgetting them for one glorious stretch of time. She kisses his lips, a soft reassurance before she truly begins.

‘You’re still clothed,’ he complains.

Anne laughs and stands up, making sure to stay in his view as she pulls the shift over her head and lets it fall. His eyes are fixed on her, their gaze worshipful and she blushes a little. She knows that she is not beautiful, not the way he is, with his body so elegantly carved, but he has never seemed to notice. He holds her in awe as much as if she was a beauty as famous as Helen and as true as Penelope.

She picks up the phallus again, feeling the weight and heft of it and tries to work out how to put it on – it is a pity Robert is not here to work it out for them. Richard would have even less luck than she is, especially given the way he is watching her now, cheek pressed against the bed covers and eyes dark.

At last, she manages it, letting out a triumphant sound when she buckles the last strap. It is strange to look down and see a cock jutting out from her groin, the straps dark against her pale thighs. She strokes a hand down the length of the phallus, feels the coolness of its stone, how it does not react to her touch like Richard’s cock would. Richard makes a choked sound.

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s – oh.’ Richard stops, has to clear his throat. ‘ _You’re_ beautiful.’

She laughs, picking up the oil and moving to kneel behind him. She nudges his legs a little further apart, moving between them, and cups one rounded cheek. His back arches, his hips lifting and she sees how rigid his cock is. She allows herself to trail one finger down its length; feels, rather than hears, his breath hiss.

Anne pulls her hand away, though part of her longs just to touch him until he comes into her hand. She uncorks the flash of oil, pours a little onto the crease of his buttocks, and rubs it over his hole, feels it clench and unclench. Then there is more oil, it gleams on his skin, and her hand is slick with it.

‘We will need fresh bedding after this, I think,’ she says as she presses a finger inside him.

Richard’s spine curves, his breath coming out in one long sigh, and by God, he is beautiful. ‘We’ll – oh – manage.’

He wriggles back against her, her own breath catches at the sensation, how warm and tight and slick he feels. She moves her finger slowly; trying to understand and memorise how he feels. How different his secret flesh is to hers, how similar. She remembers Robert tormenting Richard with his fingers until Richard’s face was red and he was as close as begging as he ever came to it. She is tempted to tease Richard the same way now, but this is not the moment for it.

She adds another finger, pushing inside and Richard whimpers. She kisses the tip of his tail bone, wraps an arm around his hips to hold him steady. Slowly, she moves, teasing him, then pulls her fingers free and reaches for more oil, coating the phallus with it.

‘Are you ready?’

Richard’s head bobs in a nod. His fingers clutch at each other, the knuckles white. She presses the head of the phallus against him, rubs it against his entrance. She feels – nothing, really, and she wishes, for a brief moment, that she could feel this as Robert would have felt it, to have flesh instead of stone that can pierce Richard.

‘It’s cold,’ he complains.

‘So were your hands last night.’

He huffs out a small laugh.

She pushes forward, feels Richard’s body giving way in the face of its slow invasion. She presses her heated face against his neck, lets her hips settle against his buttocks, her breasts and belly against his back. His body is taut and tense, flanks heaving, and she is suddenly terrified that she has gone too fast, that she has hurt him.

‘Richard?’

He shakes his head. Her oil-slick hand reaches around, feels with relief that the stiffness of his prick has not abated. In fact, it feels even harder. He groans, his fingers curling and uncurling against her plump belly, and he presses his cock into her hand.

‘I’m alright,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘Just – just give me a moment. It’s been a while.’

‘I know,’ Anne says. Despite her best intentions, her hips make minute shifts against his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. ‘You’re so good, Richard. You’re taking it so well.’

‘Thanks,’ he says, laughing breathlessly. ‘I always do.’

Another moment, then he nods. Her other hand takes hold of Richard’s hip, uses it as leverage to ease out, then in again. Richard moans; she imagines the way his face would look, the eyes slitting shut, the generous mouth open. Her movements are slight, hesitating, but soon she gains confidence when it is clear that what she is doing is far from hurting him. Her thrusts begin to quicken, to become stronger. She begins to _fuck_ him.

He likes it, mouth open and spilling a sea of sounds – moans, whimpers and cries. Her hips slap against his buttocks, her hand stroking his cock steadily.

But it is not enough. She wants to _see_ him. She pulls out and rolls him onto his back, arms caught under his back and legs drawn up to his chest, and is inside him again before he can even muster a complaint. His eyes go wide, his cheeks flush crimson. She has not seen Robert fuck him like this, no – though she supposes they might have done – but she has lain under Richard in much the same way.

‘Like – like this?’ Richard gasps out, his cock jumping.

‘So I can see you. So we can kiss.’

She bends her head to do just that, pressing herself against him, feeling the hot brush of his cock against her belly. With one hand, she undoes her braid and lets her hair fall to veil them. She takes hold of his cock again, rubbing her thumb against the sensitive head in the way she knows he likes.

His kisses become more desperate, he pours his cries and groans into her mouth, and his body is caught, thrusting back onto the phallus and forward into her hand. Even so, it’s a surprise when he comes with a rough sob, seed streaking over both their bellies.

She stops, stares at him, his mouth red and wet, his breath panting. He is beautiful, always beautiful, and yet – yet, for the first time, he has left her unsated before finding the peak of his own pleasure.

Well. It doesn’t matter. She slips her hands under his back, finds the tie of the silk strip and with one tug, frees his arms. She’s shaking, fine tremors moving along her skin, as she slides out of him carefully, his breath hissing as she presses her fingers to the hot, swollen place where they were joined.

‘Anne,’ he says, head lolling towards her. ‘Anne, come here.’

She crawls to him, stroking his sweat-damp hair back from his face, and bends to kiss him.

‘No,’ he says, firmer. ‘Come _here._ ’

‘Oh.’

The straps are even more difficult to undo than they were to fasten, her fingers scramble against the buckles as she hastens to wrench them open. It seems to take an unbearable eternity to free herself, but it cannot take that long before she’s dropping the phallus onto the bed and moving to straddle his face, knees resting on the mattress.

His hands grasp her hips as they rock forward; her breath hisses out of her as his mouth moves over her heated flesh and becomes a cry as his tongue delves into her. Her body shakes. She reaches down to brace herself, rocking into the sensation, taking hold of his hair. He’s so beautiful and he is _hers._

Something like fire sweeps through her when he slides one finger, then another, inside her, pressing up. Her back bows, her hands clutching, and she whimpers, body arching, and he doesn’t stop until she finds release with a sharp, desperate cry.

Panting, she stares dazedly at the bed hangings drawn around them, feeling his fingers knead at the generous flesh of her hip. She lets herself fall to the side, her breasts heaving. She looks at him, that beautiful face, pink from exertion and his beard wet with the evidence of her pleasure. She reaches a hand out, cups his cheek.

‘I think,’ she says, feeling a small burst of laughter flower in her chest. ‘We need a bath and some fresh sheets.’

*

Richard sleeps well this night, curled beneath the blankets, head resting on her breasts. Anne watches his face, slack and peaceful, the light of the candle casting shadows across it. She has not cured anything, only given him a brief respite. His cares, his griefs, his fears – they are still his to own and there is nothing she can do to ever free him from their weight.

She wraps herself around him now, presses her face into the gold of his hair, and prays, as she has every night since this began. _Keep him safe, let this be the end of our woes, let us be happy again._ She presses closer still, breathes in the scent of his perfume and waits.

There comes no answer, only the night breeze rustling against the bed hangings. The candle flickers and she closes her eyes before she sees it blown out.


End file.
